


But I Do Know That I Love You

by mambo



Series: four years of college and plenty of knowledge [14]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: College AU, Frank Talk About Mental Health Issues, M/M, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6387643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mambo/pseuds/mambo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve visits Bucky.</p><p>Bucky comes home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But I Do Know That I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "Wonderful World" by Sam Cooke.

Bucky opens the door, and he looks like shit.

Like, Steve would think Bucky is hot in pretty much any situation. In fact, Steve has seen Bucky in some distinctly _not hot_ scenarios before, like when he had the stomach flu and Steve held the trash can up as he puked.

He looks worse right now.

“Steve,” Bucky croaks quietly, blood-shot eyes wide.

“Hi,” Steve says, feeling suddenly shy under Bucky’s gaze.

“Hi,” Bucky parrots. He blinks a few times, and to Steve’s horror, he sees that Bucky’s eyes are filling with tears.

“You gonna let me inside?” Steve asks, glancing past Bucky’s shoulder into the hallway of his apartment building.

Bucky nods. “Yeah,” he says, stepping back and quickly wiping at his eyes. Steve follows him inside, door shutting behind him. Bucky starts down the white hallway. The place isn’t great. It’s got that funky apartment hallway smell, and the paint is chipping. The place is three floors, but Bucky is on the bottom. “Didn’t lock the door,” Bucky mumbles, opening his room up.

He holds the door open for Steve, who enters slowly.

The place is kind of a shit hole.

There’s an old, loud fan next to the window, blowing hot air around. The paint is chipping as badly as it is in the hallway, but apparently someone’s been vacuuming there, and not here, because there are little piles of white paint ground into the old, blue carpet. It’s a studio, and dirty dishes sit in the kitchen sink. The bed is barely made, sheets slipping off the corners and bunched in the middle. Bucky’s blanket is on the floor.

The only happy thing about the room is the little wall space next to Bucky’s bed. He’s got his pictures there, photos of his family and friends. Of Steve.

But even those can’t brush away the overall feeling of despair in the little room.

“Steve,” Bucky says, and Steve turns to the side. Bucky is looking at his feet, breathing strained. “Your graduation ceremony is tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, trying to keep his voice light.

Bucky looks up. “You should _be_ there.”

Steve takes a good look at him. He starts with Bucky’s body, which is noticeably thinner. Bucky’s always had muscle, been a little beefy, but he just looks thin right now. His t-shirt and noticeably dirty jeans seem to hang on his frame. Steve glances at Bucky’s wrists, and nearly sighs in relief when he doesn’t see any marks. That’s good; he’s been worried.

And then he looks at Bucky’s face and that moment of relief is replaced by such an intense wave of sadness that Steve can feel it down to his toes. Bucky looks wrecked. He looks broken and older and like he hasn’t slept in ages. Beneath his eyes are bruise-like purple bags, his beautiful blue irises standing out against the red veins. His cheekbones are hard and pronounced, his skin grayish and gaunt. He’s got a few days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks and neck. Steve realizes just how long it’s been since Bucky has sent him a picture when he looks at his hair, grown-out to chin length, looking greasy and un-styled.

“Nah,” Steve says.

“But your mom, Sarah, she would want to go.” Bucky’s eyes widen. “Does she know where you are?”

“Of course,” Steve responds. “She encouraged me to come. Buck, I wouldn’t leave without telling her.”

Bucky lets out a breath. “Why are you here?” he asks, quietly.

“In the neighborhood,” Steve responds, trying for lightness.

“No, I mean…” Bucky exhales. He hangs his head, shaggy hair flopping over his eyes. Steve waits for Bucky to finish, but it seems like he can’t. It also seems like he’s shaking.

“I’m worried about you,” Steve says. “I have been for a while. I thought it would be a good time to come see you.” Bucky doesn’t respond; Steve takes a tentative step forward. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.” Bucky nods. He sort of wraps his arms around himself, protective and sad. “What are you thinking?” Steve asks.

There’s a long moment, then Bucky says, voice cracking, “Can’t believe my shit’s makin’ you miss your graduation. I’m such a piece of _shit_.” He spits the last word, and it makes Steve flinch. Bucky looks up, eyes wide. “Steve?” he asks, quiet.

“You’re not shit,” Steve says, level. “You’re really not.” Bucky looks away again. “Can I hug you?”

“I’m kinda gross,” Bucky responds.

“Don’t care,” Steve says.

“Knock yourself out.”

Restraining the urge to roll his eyes, Steve closes the space between them and slowly wraps his arms around Bucky. He pulls in close, pressing his head to Bucky’s chest. Bucky is stiff, arms at his sides. But even with Bucky being so awkward, it’s still _Bucky_ , and Steve hasn’t touched him in a year. He breathes in, squeezes a little tighter. “I missed you,” Steve says.

“I missed you,” Bucky repeats, voice sounding ragged. “So fuckin’ much.” He takes a breath and wraps his arms around Steve. He’s a little shaky, a little stiff, but some part of Steve breathes deep for the first time since he saw Bucky. “Can’t believe you’re here.”

“Came for you, Buck,” Steve says. He pulls back a little so he can look up at Bucky. “I want to know what’s been going on.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, looking down at Steve with his blue eyes. “Everything’s gone to _shit_ ,” he adds before he begins to cry.

**…**

Steve ushers Bucky over to the bed and helps him down. Bucky presses his face into Steve’s shoulder and cries and shakes. Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders and tries to whisper reassuring things to Bucky, using his free hand to push the hair out of Bucky’s face and use his sleeve to wipe off his face. Steve doesn’t know how much time passes before Bucky stops, but it feels like an eternity.

“Can I get you some water?” Steve asks when the sniffles die down.

Bucky shakes his head. “Please don’t go,” he croaks.

“Alright,” Steve says, rubbing soft circles onto Bucky’s back.

“I’m so sorry, Steve. You came all this way…”

“I came because you didn’t seem okay.”

“‘M not,” Bucky mumbles.

“What happened, Buck?”

Bucky exhales. “It’s not been okay. Not this whole time. I stepped out of the plane and knew this was a huge fuckin’ mistake. Hate my job. Got no friends. Feel like I just wanna die.” Steve wants to flinch, but he keeps himself steady. But his eyes bristle with tears at the thought of a world without Bucky in it. “And I don’t even feel like I’m part of anythin’ anymore. Not part of your life, now.” Steve swallows tears. “Hate it.” Bucky sniffs and shakes. “And then you got this job, and I’m so proud of you, but you’re gonna go to Chicago. _Chicago_. Ain’t never been to Chicago, and what if I don’t work there, y’know? What if you don’t want me anymore?”

“I’ll always want you, Buck,” Steve adds, quiet.

Bucky shudders. “I’m fuckin’ crazy, Steve.”

“You’re _not_ ,” Steve says, surprisingly firm. “You’re who you are.”

“I stopped takin’ my meds,” Bucky admits. Coulson was right, then. “I felt like they weren’t doin’ anythin’ and I stopped. Then things got worse, but at that point everythin’ was such shit that I didn’t know how to talk about _anythin’_ , let alone find someone to really help me. And I’m such a huge fuckin’ mess, and I feel like it’s too late to do jack shit, and I’ve been the worst to you. That message, Steve, Jesus Christ, that message…”

“Buck,” Steve says. He’s been trying to hold back and let Bucky talk, but there’s something he needs to clear up. “You never left me any message.”

Bucky pauses, eyebrows furrowed. “I did,” Bucky says. “The other night.”

Steve shakes his head, trying to keep his face impartial. The last thing he wants is for Bucky to think he’s judging him in any way. “The last text I got from you was about being really excited to have found barbecue sauce, and the last voicemail was from March. All I got was your email.”

“But I remember…” Bucky starts, then trails off.

“Whatever it was, I never heard it,” Steve says.

“It was awful,” Bucky says, looking down again.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve says, reaching down and grabbing Bucky’s hand. “Everyone thinks awful stuff sometimes, even about people we care about. Like, I hate it when you clip your toenails in bed.” Bucky snorts. “And I think it’s gross, and sometimes when you’re doing it I think _you’re_ gross, but then you stop clipping your toenails and you smile, and I remember that I love you.” Bucky sighs. “So I don’t care whatever was in that message, is what I’m trying to say.”

“You should,” Bucky whispers.

“What I care about is how much you’re beating yourself up over something that doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not good enough for you,” Bucky says.

“You’re exactly the right amount of enough,” Steve replies. Bucky snorts a second time, and Steve takes it as a good sign. Steve leans over and presses a gentle kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “You’re Bucky, and I love you, and we’re gonna find a way to get you the help you need. Okay?” he asks, soft.

“Alright,” Bucky responds. “Okay.”

**…**

“How long are you gonna be here?” Bucky asks later that night. Steve spent most of the afternoon cleaning up Bucky’s apartment — vacuuming the floor and washing the sheets, washing and drying dishes. They’re eating soup at the little kitchen counter — now cleared off, for the first time in months — and even though it tastes sort of bad, neither are talking about it.

“A week,” Steve says. “If you want me to stay that long.”

“‘Course I do,” Bucky responds, quick.

Steve smiles. “Cool. Then, uh, my job doesn’t start until September, so I’m not gonna be doing much of anything for the rest of the summer.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky says, spooning up some more soup.

“So I was thinking that when you come back, you should live with me and my mom. We can spend some time helping you feel better, figuring out what you need, and then maybe… we could also spend some time looking for an apartment in Chicago? You could apply for some jobs, too?” Steve looks shyly at Bucky, hoping that he hasn’t crossed a line.

“You still want me to come with you?” Bucky asks.

“Yes,” Steve says. “I do. If you want to.” Bucky looks down. “Either way, I don’t want to break up — though I don’t have any way to stop you, if you want to. But I’m going to go to Chicago; I’m not going to give up this opportunity.But if you want to come, you have an open invitation.”

“I want to go with you,” Bucky says, quiet, but resolute.

“Then you’ve just gotta make it two more months,” Steve says. “And you can come home.”

**…**

Bucky still isn’t alright by the end of the week, not that Steve assumed he would be. But they hold hands and kiss a little, Bucky taking Steve around and showing him the city. One day, Bucky even brings Steve into his class, where he teaches a little art lesson. The kids like it, and Steve has fun.

And then it’s time to go.

“Call me when you get to New York,” Bucky says.

Steve nods. They’re sitting on the bed in Bucky’s apartment; the car that will take Steve to the airport will come any minute. And there’s something Steve needs to do.

“Can I give you something?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “Sure,” he says.

“Um,” Steve starts, taking Bucky’s hand and moving it so that his palm is up, fingers stretched. “Stay like that,” he says before reaching into his back pocket. Steve can feel Bucky watching him as he pull the ring out of his back pocket and places it in Bucky’s hand. “This isn’t a proposal,” Steve begins. “It’s not really anything, if you don’t want it to be. But you were saying that you thought that I would move on or something, which I’m not going to. I’m in it for the long haul, ’til the end of the line. And I just wanted to give you something that would remind you of that.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, a little breathless.

“If it’s stupid, I’m sorry. I just…“ Steve starts, but trails off when he sees the look on Bucky’s face. He can’t read it. “You don’t have to take it,” Steve says, feeling stupid.

Bucky shakes his head. “No, I…” He gently slips the ring onto the fourth finger of his right hand. Steve had to do a little guesswork on the size, but it seems to fit fine. “Thank you,” Bucky says. “And I’m in it, too. Alright? I know I’m a handful, and I know that it must be hard for you when my brain chemicals go haywire. But I’ll try, okay? I want to keep bein’ enough for you. I love you.”

Outside, a car honks. Steve leans in and kisses Bucky. “Two months,” he says, lips ghosting over Bucky’s.

“Two months,” Bucky repeats as Steve stands up and heads out the door.

**…**

**Two Months Later**

**…**

When Bucky meets Steve in the baggage claim at LaGuardia, he’s smiling, and the bags under his eyes may not have faded away entirely, but are smaller. Steve’s heart beats faster, the way it always does when he sees Bucky.

“Bucky!” Steve calls, waving obnoxiously and making sure that everyone is paying attention so Bucky can be _really_ embarrassed.

But he doesn’t seem embarrassed. He just grins and runs over to Steve as fast as he can, nearly knocking Steve over as he drops his bag and grabs Steve, picks him up and spins him around. Steve can hear a few people laugh or coo at the two of them, and Steve feels vaguely nauseous when Bucky finally sets him down, but Bucky is home, he’s _home_ , and looking healthy and happy. “Welcome back!” Steve says, grinning back.

“Hey,” Bucky says, “I got you a souvenir.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “We’re moving soon. That last thing I need is more _stuff_ ,” he says, but is secretly pleased.

“It’s pretty small,” Bucky says. “Not gonna be too much of a hassle.” He pauses, biting his bottom lip. “Wanna know what it is?”

“Sure,” Steve responds. “I’ll bite. Show me.”

“Alright,” Bucky responds. He gets down to the floor, next to his backpack. But then he doesn’t go to his backpack. Instead, he pulls something out of his back pocket.

“I know you said that it didn’t have to mean anythin’,” Bucky says, presenting the ring to Steve. “And we can wait as long as you wanna. But.” He gives a little smile. “I’d kinda like to wear mine on my left hand. Feels a little weird on my right.”

Choking back tears, Steve nods. “Okay,” he says, gingerly taking the ring from Bucky’s fingers. “You can switch it.”

“Cool,” Bucky says, grinning.

“Yeah,” Steve responds. “Pretty awesome.”

**_Fin_ **

**Author's Note:**

> That's all folks. As always, you can follow me at whtaft.tumblr.com.
> 
> I'm not moderating comments on this one (since I haven't gotten anything I'd consider harassment on One Year), but am not allowing anonymous comments.


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